ERR Light
by AyaEnnui
Summary: Alfred is beamed into a spaceship for the adventure of his life, and learns the greatest lesson of space-farers everywhere: no matter what you do, don't offend the cook or the doctor. AU
1. Chapter 1

**Everyone is OOC, this is an AU, the writing makes me want to cry (not in a good way), warnings beforehand! :) Don't like don't read please**

**Also, link to prompt: hetalia-kink . dreamwidth 82590 . html?thread = 508884382 # cmt508884382****, except, I deviated quite a bit…:0**

~~~0~~~

"Good morning, Comrade."

Ivan glances up from where he's hovering beside the patient's bed, stooping down with a clipboard and pen in his hands, and nods curtly. "Morning to you, General." Then he looks down again, inspecting and jotting occasionally.

Ludwig moves into the room, eyes sweeping around, resting momentarily on the gleaming silver of medical equipment and then round to the patient herself, where she lays noiseless and still apart from the slight rise and fall of her chest.

After a minute Ivan looks up again, snapping the pen sharply closed. "Excuse me, General," and his voice is frigid and contemptuous, "haven't you duties to attend to? Forgive my presumptuousness, but as far as I may recall, I am the doctor, and this is my domain, not yours."

Behind him gleams a bulky, dull grey faucet pipe, ungainly and thick round the girdle, and rust crusting on its edges like brick red stalactite. Ivan almost imperceptibly leans backwards into it, his fingers curling slightly, and Ludwig recognizes it for the silent threat it is.

Anyone else he would have had scourged, and firmly put in their place, but among the seafarers of space it is generally unheard of to punish cooks or doctors, for generally practical reasons, so Ludwig shrugs and puts up his hands. "I came in to see how the woman was doing. Important tactical information is at hand, it's critical to interrogate her as soon as she wakes up."

Ivan stiffens and straightens, fixes Ludwig with a furious stare. "Excuse me?" His fingers make contact with the pipe and grasp it firmly. With his free hand he gestures to the woman's wounds. "'Interrogate her?' I see, you're going to put her back in the hospital as soon as she gets out. Torture her? Kill her? After I worked so hard to bring her back from the brink of death? Good try. You had better get out of here."

There is a wild, uncontrollable menace in his voice that the crew members, officers, even Ludwig himself has learned to detect and retreat from, so he beats back hastily with as much dignity as he can preserve while Ivan bends back down, not so much as looking up.

~~~0~~~

The grey monster's underside of the alien spaceship lurches forward, then halts, then, with a rumbling groaning from its belly, starts forward again. As it moves closer to the sun it blocks out the light, and increasingly more and more of the blue and cloudless sky.

Alfred raises his hand to shield his eyes from what little light there is left, his other hand resting against his hip, and shakes his head from side to side, frowning.

Then he strides forward, taking care to avoid the stray bags and purses and cups and newspapers littering the street, left in the panic of the pedestrians to get away from the approaching menace, and threads his way to the small café on the corner.

"Coming, Kiku," he mutters into his palm, and sighs, and then suddenly everything is white and scorching, and the hairs on the back of his neck jerk straight up, and he cries out and flails blindly and then he knows no more.

~~~0~~~

**Spaceship: **_**E.R.R. Light**_

**Specimen Lifted: **_**Human**_

**Elevation: 20KE168NL**

The agony lasts for only a fraction of a second, and then Alfred is swung back to his senses dizzyingly fast. He drops to his knees, panting, and stays there, hands clinging to the ground and groping it desperately, as if it might slip out from under him again.

Through the buzzing in his ears he can distantly make out the sound of thumping, something unrolling, and a strip of dazzlingly red velvet slips between his fingers.

"Earthling."

Alfred looks up, eyes wide, dazed, glasses askew.

A handsome young man, lush brown hair sweeping across his brow, frowning delicately, his nose stretching aquiline and chiseled down his face, stops a few steps from Alfred, his pointed slippers rising and curling into the air.

"Earthling—" here he pauses again, waiting for the awe to sink in "—you are the first of your people to begin interracial diplomatic negotiations with us, and for that you will be honored throughout the ages."

Alfred manages to put one foot on the ground, then another, and tries to rise on unsteady feet.

"We are your new masters," the alien cries, stretching his arms grandly, "and you Earthlings, primitive though you are, may work under as slaves, and serve us devotedly, sincerely, and whole-heartedly, and rest assured from the bottom of your tiny little hearts—"

Alfred gets to his feet, wobbles a bit, sets his glasses back in place, looks down and frowns. His white shirt is laced with small, orange crumbs, perfectly round and clinging to the fabric like burrs.

"—so now, Earthling, you may—"

Alfred dusts off his shirt.

The alien falls silent, and Alfred glances up, startled, then recoils with a hand over his mouth. The alien's eyes are goggling, his hands flying wildly to his throat, and, gurgling, keels over, his eyes rolling back into his head.

Alfred crouches down and nudges him gently. The alien is lifted slightly by the movement, then flops back down like a dead weight.

"Oh my god," Alfred murmurs, and backs away into the corner of the room, shrinking in on himself, eyes hopelessly glued to the corpse sprawled spread-eagle across the floor.

A chipper, prolonged _beep_ comes from the door, a hunk of metal jagged down the middle, and it slides open. Someone steps in, another alien, considerably less regal and quite a bit more scruffy, deep bags under his eyes, and then he moves closer to Alfred, looking him up and down.

"Huh," he says, and glances disdainfully at the body on the ground. He kneels down and presses two fingers to the body's forehead, then its right shoulder, and stands up again, brushing his hands. "Dead for sure."

"Jesus Christ," Alfred whispers, "oh God, I didn't mean to kill him, I really didn't, I don't—"

"Don't worry about it." A shrill crackle comes from the alien's head, and he coughs and adjusts what looks like a small, black bug on his temple, snugly resting against his ear. "He was an asshole. Don't tell anyone, though." He looks down with a thoughtful frown on his face. "You're our emperor, now."

"_What_?"

"That," the alien says, pointing, "used to be our emperor. According to our customs, whoever defeats the emperor becomes emperor. So, congratulations on beating him black and blue. Not that it was particularly difficult to, but…"

Alfred shakes his head frantically. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm really not." In a flash the alien moves towards him, and clasps him into a firm hug. "I'm Antonio, welcome to the Empire." A humid breath brushes Alfred's ear. "Say, you couldn't get me some kind of official position, could you?"

~~~0~~~

"So, till we get back to our home planet, you're gonna be in charge around here."

Alfred doubles his steps to keep up with Antonio's fast stride. "Won't people hate me? I did kill your emperor."

"As I said, he was an asshole. If anything, these guys will be bowing down and kissing your feet." Antonio grins, a toothy grin that stretches from ear to ear. He stops at a thick, immaculate window and jabs his finger at the glass. "See that? That's Ludwig, our personal General. He's kind of got a stick up his ass, but you know, he's not that bad, really."

He starts walking again, and Alfred jogs up to him, panting. "Couldn't you go slower?"

"Things to go, places to see." Antonio flashes Alfred a grin and taps a small blue bubble on his wrist, looking uncannily like a wristwatch, gas bubbles rising up to the surface.

He stops again, pointing. "And there's Felik."

Felik catches sight of them and waves.

"He was mostly doing beauty stuff for the emperor, nails and stuff, you know, and hair, and Ludwig was always huffing he had no place on this ship, cause he's a fashionista, and stuff. He's pretty cool, though, and really knows women, so he's the best for love advice."

"And you?" Alfred asks.

"First mate. I've been swinging round ships ever since I was an itty-bitty babe. It's been promotion after promotion, lately, and if my luck holds out, I might get another after this voyage."

As they move down the hall Alfred tilts his head and sniffs the air, and turns to Antonio. "What's that?"

"Yao Wang," Antonio answers darkly, grimacing, and as they go on a figure gradually comes to sight, stirring a cauldron, a handkerchief wrapped round its head and singing loudly in an indecipherable foreign language.

Antonio rushes forward and whispers something into the alien's ear, and then it frowns and reaches behind its ear, and something crackles to life, another little black bug. Then it turns to Alfred and grins:

"Welcome aboard."

Then it turns back to cooking and Antonio leads Alfred away, pinching his nose. Out of hearing distance, Antonio sighs. "He's a nice guy, but he can't cook for his life. Every night I swear I get cramps, and even I'm not exactly used to gourmet."

"That's what I'll have to eat."

"Afraid so."

They move on, Antonio craning his neck to see down corners and searching for a familiar face. He finally stops in front of a white, squat square room, brings two fingers to his lips.

"This is the doctor," he murmurs, and glides to the door, pulling a card from his back pocket. He moves it slightly above the rectangular, blue box to the door's left, and begins to slide it down the slender fissure down its center. "You've got to be quiet. Ivan's scary, really scary. And he doesn't like disturbances."

The door whirs open.

Rows of spotless beds, layered by crisp white sheets, use up most of the room's space, and a small counter to the back houses various boxes, all of them closed, large and sleek and shining, labeled in tiny, alien script.

A shrunken, frail woman is the only patient in the room, hands clasped neatly on her abdomen, eyes closed and breathing slowly, raggedly and huskily.

Beside her a chair has been pulled up, and bright eyes swerve up to meet Antonio and, behind him, Alfred. A quick nod of the head is their only acknowledgement, and then the eyes glide down, back to the patient.

"Um—" Antonio tries, and his voice comes out too squeaky and high. He swallows, and tries again. "Have you heard the news?"

"That son of a bitch is dead."

Antonio laughs nervously, then pulls Alfred in front of him. "Oh, yeah, he's, um…Hey, this is Alfred."

The eyes dart up, looking almost startled. "An Earthling?"

"Yeah, he's a pretty cool guy, you know, swag and stuff…" Antonio trails off, lost. "Oh, right! And he's the emperor, now. All hail Emperor Alfred."

"The Council will never accept him." Ivan leans back, pulling off his white, sterilized gloves. "And taking down that son of a bitch was hardly anything difficult."

"Alfred's a great guy, and you totally need to stop being such a pessimist."

Ivan shrugs, the smooth, wavelike movement almost lost amidst his thick coat. "I am only pointing out what we all know." Then his gaze shifts to Alfred. "Hello, Earthling."

Alfred raises his hand awkwardly. "Hello."

Then Ivan pulls his gloves back on and stoops down, having clearly lost interest, and Antonio's hand clamps firmly on Alfred's shoulder and pulls him away, closing the door behind them.

Then he rests his hands against his knees and exhales loudly, straightens, grins at Alfred, and wipes the back of his hand against his forehead, coming away with sweat. "One terrifying motherfucker."

"I didn't think he was so bad," Alfred ventures cautiously.

"Nah, if he doesn't like you, just wait till there's a battle and all the beds fill up and we're all laying there, dying. Then he'll get to you last, and 'accidently' screw up your surgery, maybe amputate you, too."

"He's actually done that?"

"No, but it's been done before. Alfred, there are two people you should never, ever piss off, no matter what you do: the cook and the doctor."


	2. Chapter 2

**Laura is Belgium, by the way :)**

~~~0~~~

The white sheets of the bed rustle faintly, swept from side to side by the pale hand scrabbling at it, struggling for a grip. The patient's mouth moves, too, gaping open and closed like a dying fish's, cornered fear and helplessness in her face.

Ivan bends over her, whispers into her ear, "You're safe," and withdraws, straightening. He heads to the back counter and pulls on his gloves, one for the left and one for the right, opens one of the medical boxes and begins fumbling.

He can feel the patient's eyes follow him, mutely and intently, from behind him. His hands thrust apart the bottles, searching for the right one. "There's no need to be afraid. I won't harm you." He reaches for a vial sloshing with deep red liquid, grasps it and closes the lid. "If I wanted to you would already be dead."

The woman's mouth opens again, larger this time, straining to form words and uttering a hoarse cry before falling back on her pillows. Ivan sits beside her, one unscrewing the bottle's cap and the other moving towards her face. "Stay still, this won't taste pleasant."

His fingers grasp her lips and shift them apart, then the bottle is moved to just above her mouth and slowly upended.

As the first drop falls to her throat she gives a strangled cry, her body flies up, flailing, her eyes goggling and rolling up. Ivan forces two more drops down, pressing against her chest firmly, then quickly screws the cap back on the bottle and puts it away, watching her closely.

For a few moments more her limbs jerk spastically, then she falls still, exhausted, but still conscious.

"I warned you," Ivan says mildly, then sits by her again. His back is ramrod straight, pressed rigidly against the chair. "I am helping you regain your strength. Before long the General will run out of patience with me and take you away. I will help you escape before that."

With the utmost effort, her head drags slowly to the side, and her eyes, deep and ringed with black, stare at him confusedly.

He smiles and stands up. "Tell Natalya I love her." Then he steps through the door and it closes, whirring, behind him.

~~~0~~~

Alfred stares at the small contraption on the ground, kneeling on hands and feet, head cocked sideways to inspect its underside. "That's what beamed me up?"

"Sure," says Eduard. A beaming grin works its way into his face. "I kid you not, my great-great-great-great grandfather was cofounder of that thing."

"Huh," Alfred says, and turns his attention back to the teleporting beam. "It really is amazing. My engineering colleagues would have one hell of a time with this."

"I'm working on perfecting it," Eduard says. "It's completely safe, of course, but the transportation itself can be somewhat unpleasant. I'm hoping I can make it something of a smoother ride."

"That…might be preferable."

"Ah, you were beamed up with it, weren't you?"

"Hopefully for the last time in my life."

"My model will be done soon," Eduard tells him. "It won't be so bad, next time."

"I'd rather there is no 'next time'," Alfred says, standing up, and wincing at the stiffness in his joints. He shifts awkwardly to the side, rubbing his leg where the blood is rushing down. "Still, I'll admit the technology is mind-blowing. Almost makes me regret I didn't take that engineering course in Stanford."

"Stanford?"

"You guys have been studying our planet for years and you don't know what Stanford is? We sweat blood and tears just to get into the damned things."

"What?"

"They're called colleges."

Eduard tilts his head, thinking. "I remember something of the sort."

"I majored in biochemistry, and my friend almost dragged me into engineering. Almost." Alfred heaves a sigh of relief and straightens up again, wriggling his toes. "Took something else instead."

"I see," Eduard says, but he looks a little confused. Then he turns slightly to the left and his fingers move behind his ear, tapping the small, black device nestling against his hair. "See this?"

Alfred leans closer.

"It transmits to the local database, where every language ever encountered has been stored. With this, translation when talking to any known species is possible."

"Could I have one?"

"What would you need it for?"

"I'm on an alien spaceship with futuristic advanced technology. What do you think I'd need it for? The people back at home would kill to dissect this kind of equipment."

Eduard almost smiles. "I'll see if I can get my hands on another one."

They move down the hallway, Eduard pointing out various mechanisms and equipment, occasionally lapsing into indecipherable jargon, and Alfred's head bobbing mindlessly up and down.

Someone rounds the corner, a man that's all sharp angles and stiff, starched uniform; the General, Ludwig, Alfred recalls. He hardly slows as he passes, nods curtly once in greeting, and vanishes down the hallway.

Alfred rubs his arm. "He doesn't look too happy."

"He's always like that, it's just gotten worse than usual." Eduard sniffs delicately, raises a hand and pinches the bridge of his nose. "He and Ivan have been duking it out the past few weeks." He stops. "Are you going to ask me why?"

"Of course," Alfred says, and Eduard rolls his eyes.

"We had a battle with some rebels awhile ago. There weren't many of them, we got off just fine. Some of us were injured, but that was about it. We got a prisoner, too, that's rare because those rebels are always blowing themselves up when they get captured. Ludwig's mistake was giving her to Ivan's care, and he could raise the dead from their graves if he wanted to, but he won't let her go, now that Ludwig wants to interrogate her. Probably to piss him off."

"So an indirect way of flipping him the bird?"

"That's about it, basically. Now Ludwig's taking it out on us because even he won't face down Ivan in his domain, not even the Emperor did…only Felik."

"The fashionista?"

"Surprising, right? He must have more balls than the rest of us combined."

They're rounding the corner when Ivan comes wheeling around, nearly crashing into Eduard, and grabs his shoulders frantically. "Where's Ludwig?"

For a moment Eduard freezes, his pupils dilating in terror, then he shakes off Ivan. "He came this way just a minute ago." Ivan takes off, hissing curses under his breath, and Eduard shouts, "Hey! What's the big deal?"

"That doesn't look good," Alfred observes.

"No kidding." Eduard groans and slaps the back of a hand to his forehead. "God, enough of these politics. It's back to my machinery for me."

He strides forward, and Alfred hurries to keep up. "Say, that Ivan's a doctor, right? So he should be well-informed about alien physiology?"

Eduard stops at one of the doors and turns around. "You can't be thinking of talking to him?"

Alfred shrugs.

"He's insane!" Eduard groans again, fumbles in his pocket for a card and slides it down the door key. "Whatever. Just go on, Your Highness."

~~~0~~~

Ivan comes to a halt in front of Ludwig, trembling with rage, fingers stretching and aching for the familiar grip of his pipe. "Care to inform me what you're doing?"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play the fool," Ivan hisses. "Those soldiers, stationed outside _my_ medical room. I want them gone. Now."

"They're for your own protection—"

Ivan laughs, a shrill and furious laugh. "Oh, I'm sure. From a helpless, invalid woman barely capable of stirring her fingers. I'm _sure_."

"She will be given a period of convalescence, and, after we question her, a fair trial at the Empire. I see no reason for you to be upset. I am allowing you to perform your job."

Then he pushes past Ivan and disappears down the hallway, leaving him seething and grinding his teeth and gripping the neck of his scarf entirely too tightly.

"You want to play this game," he mutters, and turns away, "then a game you will have."

~~~0~~~

"We've got all kinds of creatures here. I've been planning to filch some of Earth's own."

Laura moves down the row of cages and aquarium tanks, giving names to the various assorted creatures as they pass.

"Err," Alfred begins, and clears his throat, "see, we're kind of running short on some species right now, so we probably can't spare any."

"Exactly. If you're not treating them right, you should give them to us."

They move to the last tank, five towering panels of glass fitted seamlessly together, and at the top a serrated grill rumbling out colored bubbles fluttering down. At the bottom flounces a colossal, glowering squid, pockets of gas peppering its body, arms lifting and drifting with the artificial current, and one yellow, unblinking, half-hidden eye.

Laura spins to a stop in front of it, beaming, hands clasped behind her back. "What do you think?"

Alfred gazes up at the monstrosity, shrinks back. "I-It's certainly s-something."

"I know," Laura says, and, grinning, swings herself onto the ladder fitted to the tank. "Wanna come up here and get a better look?"

"No thank you," Alfred falters, and then, "Are you sure that's okay?"

"Of course it is," Laura says happily, and presses herself against the glass, crooning. "Isn't that right, sweetie, isn't it, don't you love mommy so much? Who's a good boy, who's a good boy!"

The creature's acorn-shaped head slowly drifts up, and its tentacles begin moving, faster now.

"Good boy," Laura whispers, pats the glass one last time, and longingly descends the ladder. She jumps onto the ground. "He's absolutely adorable."

"S-Sure," Alfred stammers. "Why don't we take a look at some of the—err—_smaller_ animals?"

"Sure thing," Laura grins, takes his hand and they speed off.

~~~0~~~

Ivan dips his head in polite greeting towards the guards, unlocks the door, hangs up his coat and twiddles the end of his scarf, closing his eyes and steadying his breathing, and struggles for calmness.

When he opens his eyes again the woman is sitting, propped up against the pillows, and gazing at him curiously.

"Lie down."

She tilts her head in puzzlement.

"Do it," he breathes, and moves closer to her, to block her from the guards' view. His voice drops lower, and quieter. "Things are not progressing smoothly, to say the least."

The woman's eyebrows rise sharply up.

"I won't let him stop me. Don't worry. I'm sure you can feign ill for a while more." He pauses, stoops down and presses two fingers to her forehead. "You're not fully recovered, anyway."

The woman mouths, _How long_?

"A week, give or take. Maybe longer. Perhaps I can hold him off longer."

She raises up her wrists, stares at them. They're thin as twigs and seem like, at the slightest pressure, they might snap. She shakes her head mournfully from side to side.

"Listen—" his fingers dart out and force her face towards him, and she flinches "—I said I would get you out of here. Don't underestimate me."

She nods hastily, tears springing to her eyes from the pain, and he lets her go. She turns away, cheek pressing into the pillow, curling in on herself.

One of the guards raps on the window.

Ivan curses and heads for the door.

~~~0~~~

"As I said, he's a nasty bastard. I don't think I'd put it past him to intentionally sabotage her for an excuse to make her stay."

"Perhaps not," Ludwig concedes, frowning, gauging Antonio from behind the desk.

"That much's obvious. Just, why does he hate you so damned much?"

Ludwig shrugs, opens a drawer and takes out a sheaf of folders. "We never took to one another," he says simply.

"Still," Antonio snorts, "if he's doing all this to drive you up the wall, there must be a lot, lot, lot of hate."

"Your break is over, Antonio," Ludwig reminds him. "Isn't it about time you returned to work?"

"Right, right." Antonio darts to his feet and grabs his jacket. Slinging it over his shoulders, he adds, "Well, if anything, he's more pissed off now than ever."

Ludwig shrugs again, flips open a folder and begins reading, finger tracing the lines of curling ink. "It's about time he remembered his place in this ship. Things have gone too far."

"Whatever, man," Antonio sighs, then, at the door, looking back, "Be careful, okay?"

And then he's gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**If anyone's still reading this… :| I know it's supposed to be romance, it'll definitely come in, just not for a while…yup**

~~~0~~~

"Morning."

The guards nod stiffly in acknowledgement, then return their gazes straight ahead, immobile and seemingly lifeless, statues cut out of marble.

Alfred moves to the door and, after a moment of hesitation, knocks.

From the other side of the door comes the sound of fumbling; then it opens, and the doctor inclines his head at Alfred, smiles, and moves aside to let him pass.

"Take a seat," he says warmly, gesturing, then slams the door so loudly behind the guards they almost seem to flinch.

The woman, still lying on the bed, struggles to prop herself up at the sound of Alfred's footsteps, catches a glance at him, and finally drops back down.

"You doing okay?"

Ivan shifts between her and Alfred, and says, a little too politely, "She's doing just fine." He sits across from Alfred and the woman, staring at the ceiling, closes her eyes.

Alfred lowers his voice, and, sweeping generically to the guards, murmurs, "What's with them?"

Ivan turns scornful, and his fingers reach up and jerk at the neck of his scarf. "Our wonderful General has seen fit to shield me from the perilous advances of my crippled and debilitated patient."

"Oh." Alfred coughs discretely into his hand. "That's…tough."

One of the guards peers into the room, and Ivan seems only barely able to restrain himself from making a rude gesture. He sighs, leans in, and whispers to Alfred, eyes gleaming, "Can you keep a secret?"

"I—"

"Our patient there is able to talk." Ivan draws back. "The windows are soundproof—that is what comes of screaming amputated men. Perhaps you could keep her company?"

"I guess," Alfred says, hesitantly, then, "Why me?"

Ivan stands, yawning into his palm, and, over his shoulder, "Even I need sleep. And my good patient here seems to have taken a liking to you."

The door slides shut behind him.

Alfred drags the chair to the woman's bedside, shifts it to block the vantage points of the guards, then sits, knees spread apart and hand gripping the edge of the chair between them.

"Hello."

The woman opens her eyes, and turns her head to him. Her lips open feebly. "Hello."

"Are you really doing okay?"

She smiles wryly. "No."

"That's too bad."

Her eyes slip shut again, and she nods.

"Would you like me to be quiet?" Alfred asks.

"No, this is good. The company is refreshing."

Alfred frowns in thought. "You haven't talked to anybody but that doctor for awhile now, huh?"

"Yes. He's not a…bad doctor, but makes for some rather poor conversation."

Alfred laughs. "I can see that."

"You are…Alfred, correct?"

"Yup."

"I am Elizabeta. I am forever indebted to you for…slaying that tyrant."

"Slaying?" Alfred pauses in surprise. "I didn't kill anyone. You have an allergic reaction and a cheese puff to thank."

"Cheese puff?"

"It's a snack we eat, back on Earth."

"How ironic. And fitting."

"I guess not many people liked that guy."

Her tongue crawls out and wets her lips. "Oh, no. Our…'_good doctor_' here never referred to him by name or title…only 'that son of a bitch.'"

"Even in front of the Emperor himself?"

"Of course."

"That's…bold."

Her chest almost seems to puff up with pride. "Yes, it is." She adds, as an afterthought, "His sanity, however, is questionable at times. I believe it runs in the family."

"_Family_?"

"Two sisters. I know the youngest one…quite well."

"And she's?"

"The most beautiful woman in the universe. She loves knives, sometimes she thinks she can see ghosts." Elizabeta laughs, a mellow, strong, rich laugh from the bottom of her belly. "And her closets are filled with traditional clothes, all so cute, and then she runs up and down to find a place to store the dresses that won't fit." She stops. "I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

"Go on," Alfred urges her, and zips his fingers across his mouth. "Everything's safe with me."

Elizabeta almost smiles. "On cold days she looks out the window and I know she's thinking of her brother. And her internal clock, it's skewed. And when she looks at the moon she always becomes impossibly sad." She lets out a gush of breath. "God, I miss her."

"Sounds like you two are close."

"I think. Sometimes I wonder if she misses me in return."

"I'm sure she does."

For a moment Elizabeta says nothing. Then she pulls her sheets higher up her chest. "You have a way of inspiring confidence."

"Never been told that before," Alfred says dryly, laces his fingers on the nape of his neck and leans back.

"Much in the same way that Natalya inspires respect. And that crazy doctor, fear."

"That 'crazy doctor' has a name," says Ivan cheerfully, stepping into the room. He holds the sides of the door open. "Prepare yourself, we've got another patient coming in."

Elizabeta whispers, "He looks entirely too happy," rolls onto her side and flings the sheets over her head.

A stretcher wheels in, pushed by two robotic aides, and pulls up next to a bed, and a prone figure is quickly lifted onto it. Ivan is on it in a second, jabbing needles into arms and legs, attaching a mask to the face, moving with lightning speed and precision.

Alfred gets up and shifts closer, craning over Ivan's shoulder to see the new patient, then recoils, a hand pressed to his mouth.

"My God," he murmurs.

Ivan slides another needle into Antonio's arm.

~~~0~~~

"What's wrong with him?"

Ivan smiles scornfully at Ludwig from the top of his scarf. "Minor complication. Most likely he forgot to take his pills, or they were defunct."

Felik shakes his head. "I was with him this morning, we took them together."

"These sort of things happen all the time," Ivan says lightly, shrugging his shoulders, "you shouldn't put too much weight on it. He'll be fine."

"How long out of commission?" Ludwig asks.

"A week or two, give or take. Depends on how efficiently I can treat him."

"_Efficiently_?" Felik sputters.

Ivan stands up and moves to the window, and sweeps a cold glare across them. "Look at this," he hisses, rapping the pane with his knuckles, and the guards begin to turn round. "Not only is this an insult to my profession, and to _me_, having two grown men loitering around stupidly outside my medical room and watching my every move is hardly beneficial to productivity. I want them out."

Ludwig begins to stand, but Felik pulls him down. "And you're saying, what? If we won't remove them, you won't treat Antonio?"

Ivan smiles. "Essentially."

"You're toeing the line, bastard. You could be arrested for insubordination."

Ivan stiffens, and says, with rage, "_Insubordination_? You'd have to explain to the jury first why you were _violating_ the rights of an individual and _compromising my work_ without a _shred of evidence against me_!"

Ludwig slumps back into his chair, and holds up a hand. "Enough." He looks to Ivan. "I'll get rid of them, so why don't we stop this here?"

"Ludwig—"

"Wonderful!" Ivan claps his hands together, moves over to the cabinets and begins rummaging through the clutter of boxes. "I never wanted it to escalate," he says sweetly, turning round with a silver instrument in his hand. "By the way, you might want to leave for this."

"General, you can go," Felik mutters, and grips the arms of the chair, his face bloodless. "I don't trust this son of a bitch."

Ivan waves to Ludwig as he goes, still smiling, fiddles with the blue panel at Antonio's side and gets to work.

~~~0~~~

"Hey! Wait up!"

Laura barrels down the hallway, crashes into Alfred, and spins away, laughing. She totters as she slows, holding out her arms for balance. "You're going to visit Antonio, aren't you?"

Alfred blinks. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Are you coming, too?"

"Course." Laura speeds to a jog. "Anyone tell you what's wrong with him?"

"No. Do you know?"

"Nope!" Laura chirps, twirling around and walking backward, hands nonchalantly linked behind her head. "Maybe he just got into an accident. He's kind of absentminded, like me."

"You'd better watch out for that corner."

"Hmm? Oh, I know." Laura rounds the corner, still backpedalling. "Thanks, but you don't need to watch out for me. I've got eyes on the back of my head."

Alfred blinks again. "What?"

"Here, see." She stops and swirls one-eighty, and points. "It looks like hair, but—"

An orange stalk rises out of the mass, a small ball of white blinking confusedly, and another follows suit.

"Cool, right?" Laura grins, pats them back down, and continues walking. "Mom always told me I had pretty eyes."

"They're very pretty." Alfred forces a smile onto his face. "Say, is anyone else like that? Got…extra appendages?"

"Some. Antonio's got these weird tentacle things." Laura giggles. "He's still horrible at opening jars. And the General's a Blue."

"What?"

"I know, right? He's totally not blue. Not as far as I can tell, anyway, maybe they see colors in a different way. Hey, maybe they look blue to each other. Eduard's pretty normal, as far as I can tell, he's just got a really, really big brain. Or maybe he's just a genius." Laura taps a finger to her chin. "Maybe both."

"They looked so…"

"Normal? I was kind of surprised, too, till I learned they don't have stalks." She shakes her head in disgust. "What kind of species doesn't have _stalks_?"

"I don't," Alfred points out.

"That's cause humans are pretty plain." She adds hastily, "No offense."

"None taken."

They turn another corner to the front of the medical room, and Laura presses herself against the glass, mouth squashed like a goldfish's, and bellows, "Let us in!"

"It's no use," Alfred tells her. "The walls are soundproof."

Laura pushes herself off. "I don't have the key for this room," she says, and then commences to inspect the oily imprint of her lips on the glass.

The door slides open and Felik gestures them in, spits on the floor and wipes his mouth disgustedly.

"The procedure's just over," he says, "be glad you missed it. Ugh. Excuse me while I throw up."

He scurries down the hall.

"What's with _him_?" Laura mutters, and moves cautiously to Antonio's bed, stopping just beside it. "Hey, can I take this off?" she asks loudly, and gestures to the thick, starched white sheet draped over the body.

Ivan's voice comes muffled from the office behind the room: "Don't touch anything." Then he appears himself, wiping his cheek with the arm of his coat, and tosses the mask in his hand onto the counter. "He's sleeping, the drugs haven't left his system yet."

Laura scowls and takes a seat. "Well, if he's just sleeping, why won't you take that thing off him?"

"Because I'm the doctor," says Ivan wearily, dropping into the seat across from her, "and you wouldn't relish the sight. Trust me."

"Fucking likely," she mutters under her breath, but keeps still.

Alfred wanders across the room to Elizabeta's bed, and points to it. "Where did she go?"

"I pushed her into the office," Ivan calls, "you can see her if you like. She didn't want to be present for the procedure. Be sure to shut the door behind you."

Alfred nods and goes.

Elizabeta rises on her elbows when she sees him and grins, and pats a spot on the stretcher and pulls him down, insisting, "Sit, sit."

Her face is flushed and tinged with pink, and her fingers seem to have grown thicker, more fleshed out, trembling with excitement.

"You won't tell anybody, right?"

"I said I wouldn't."

She bobs her head. "I know." She pauses, then bursts out, "I shouldn't trust you so much, but I do. You seem so awfully nice."

Her fingers twist among the sheets, writhe and tangle, then she touches them to her cheeks to calm her trembling.

"I'm leaving," she whispers.

"What?"

"In a day or two, that's what I was told," she murmurs, "I'll be well enough to go. He said it's a bit early, but better now than later, when they'll be keeping a sharper watch on me."

Alfred lets this sink in. Then he says, slowly, "You sure you want to go through with this? It seems dangerous."

"Maybe, I don't care." She's shaking more than ever now. Her palms slide over and rest on his. "Say, you won't tell anybody? You promised?"

"I meant it."

"Alright, then. Alright." She sinks back onto the stretcher, still jerking spastically, her fingers skittering and fluttering in the air. "Alright."

She looks up and smiles. "You've been good to me."

"I haven't done anything."

"You've done more than you know. I won't forget it."

Alfred nods, and then, "But why is he helping you?"

She hesitates, and her hands withdraw from his. They fall back onto the stretcher. "I can't tell you."

Alfred nods again, and makes his voice higher and a little louder. "Alien physiology is amazing, isn't it?"

"Alien…what?"

"Does that sound strange? Back on Earth I was a biochemist," he explains. "Now it's the strangest thing, I can travel the universe and meet all sorts of intelligent life because I decided to snack on cheese puffs one morning."

"The universe is filled with wonders."

"Well," Alfred says, smiling, "I've got to agree with you on that one."


	4. Chapter 4

The lights are flicked on and, one by one, the expansive stretches of liquid light trapped to the ceiling emit a dull, artificial glow, smothering out every corner and pocket of darkness.

Ivan slips his hand over the greasy rail and makes his way carefully down the stairs, picking over the gaping holes in some of the steps, occasionally tossing a look over his shoulder and gazing at the door thoughtfully for a moment before continuing on.

He hops to the floor and pats the rail in silent gratitude, threads through the escape pods and scans their engraved names, head tilted to one side and squinting to make out the letter, then stops.

"This is the one," he says, pointing.

Alfred moves over next to him and runs a thumb over the slick plating. "How'd you know I was here?"

"You're not very good at hiding," Ivan says softly. "She's in there." He steps back. "If you want to talk to her, go ahead."

Alfred shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot and scratches his head. "I don't know if there's anything left to say."

Ivan glides behind him and pushes him gently forward. "Go on," and pushes him again.

Alfred scrambles into the pod and crawls forward, groping blindly, then his hand touches smooth fabric. He sits against the cramping wall of the pod, knees drawn up, fingers interlocked.

Elizabeta hacks a cough into her hand. The spittle flies through the darkness and lands on Alfred's arm. Everything is lightless but Alfred can almost imagine her face, squeezing together in pain, mouth drawn wide, coughing and wheezing.

"I have a handkerchief," he offers.

"No, thank you." And her smile, he can almost imagine it lighting up the darkness. "I would only dirty it."

He shakes his head, even though she can't see it. "I don't have any other use for it anyway. Why don't you take it?" And he reaches for her, his fingers make light contact with hers, and he presses it into her palm. "Take it."

Again that imagined smile. The fingers curl in and retract, and he can no longer feel her warmth. "Thank you," she rasps, and coughs, this time, he knows, into the handkerchief.

The silence descends upon them, broken in intervals by her coughing and hacking. Alfred presses his hands to the cold ground of the pod and tries to lift himself up into a squat. "I should go back now."

She doesn't answer.

He descends into a crawl again, and, halfway to the entrance, arches the upper half of his body back. "Say, Elizabeta? Do you have stalk eyes, or tentacles? Are you blue?"

A laugh rings out in the darkness. "What?" she asks, sniffing.

"Are you blue?" Alfred repeats, and he feels strangely solemn.

"As far as I can tell, no. What an odd query."

"I guess so," Alfred mumbles, and crawls on.

He twists to his side, lets his feet slide past and falls feet-first, crouches to absorb the impact and then straightens.

"Finished?" Ivan asks.

"Yeah," Alfred says, brushes himself off and closes the door of the pod. "Is she going now?"

"When she's ready," Ivan answers. "She should be at the controls now." He smiles at the fright in Alfred's eyes. "Don't worry, she's a skilled pilot. Won't crash and fall."

The serrated wall in front of the pad begins to drag itself upward, heaving and groaning with such force Alfred is almost afraid the noise will wake the men and women sleeping upstairs, and it vanishes into a slit and the pod grates forward, stops momentarily at the entryway, as if struggling with some invisible force, then lifts off and, in the blink of an eye, is gone.

The wall slides back down.

"That was too easy," Alfred says.

"Everyone in this ship is incompetent." Ivan moves to the stairs, his hand flying back to the rail, gingerly steps on one then another. "Be careful up here."

"What will everyone think when they find out she's gone? All the suspicions against you will seem justified."

"There's not a shred of evidence. And when our esteemed General arrives I can say the prisoner held a gun to my head, forced her way out, and that he was correct after all in stationing sentries outside my medical room."

"No one's gonna buy that," Alfred says, panting, and rests his hands briefly against his knees.

"Of course not. But what else can they do? They need a doctor."

"That's not exactly playing fair."

"Dear Earthling, I never said I was."

Ivan reaches the platform, waits for Alfred to climb to the top, then they walk out together.

"You must know you'll never see her again."

Alfred stops and looks back, and, evenly, asks, "Why would you say that?"

Ivan smiles, pushes past him, slides the door of the medical room open and waves. "I'll be in here. You had better get the General. Also tell him I've been shot."

Alfred blanches, calls out, "What?" but the door has already closed.

~~~0~~~

"You were right, of course, General, you were absolutely right, if only I had followed your advice."

Ludwig's boots grind into the floor, hard enough to drive out sparks. He paces across the room, back and forth, hands pressed to his temples, and finally swerves to a halt in front of Ivan's bed.

"Cut the bullshit," he snarls, then takes off again, pulling at his hair. "Where did she go?"

"She held me at gunpoint, General," Ivan says airily, a hint of amusement in his voice. "And why would she tell me where she was going?"

"Because you helped her get away, that's why."

"Nonsense," Ivan declares, lets loose a little giggle, and waves over Yao Wang. "You wouldn't mind fetching me my scarf, would you? I believe it dropped—somewhere—about there—" he points aimlessly, "and I've become rather used to it."

Yao Wang drops to his haunches and peers about the floor, a hand raised to his forehead, catches sight of the scarf and inches towards it.

"You should be brought to account for your crimes," Ludwig groans. His hands have migrated to his eyes, pressing them into his skull. "But of course, you'll worm out of it, you weasel—"

Yao Wang jabs at Ludwig's leg. "There's nothing wrong with weasels."

Ludwig groans again, pries the doors open, and storms down the hallway.

"And there he goes," observes Ivan.

Yao Wang rises from the floor, the scarf looping around his hands like an overgrown snake, and drops it into Ivan's lap. "He won't forget this anytime soon. You gonna be okay?"

"Of course," Ivan says easily, and gathers the scarf around his neck. "He knows as well as I how corrupted the bureaucracy is. And I have connections."

"Ah." Yao Wang scratches at his nose. "Is weasel not good in soup?"

"No."

"Ah," he says again, sinks to the floor and curls up against the bed meditatively.

~~~0~~~

"So, um, Laura sends her condolences. Here, this is for you." Alfred sets a metallic, gleaming box on the bedside table, and it rattles and hisses and knocks over the lamp. "But, uh, if it were up to me, I wouldn't open it."

"I see. Anything from Felik?"

"He told you 'to go to hell.'"

"As expected," Ivan murmurs, laughing a little bit, sweeps the blankets aside and lumbers slowly to his feet. He hangs there a moment, hanging an arm out for balance. The other dangles limply against his side, and he frowns at it. "Irritating, but it will heal quickly enough."

Alfred leans in and whistles. "That must've took some guts."

"It would have been more convincing had you shot me."

"That's…there's no way I could've done that. I would've made a bad shot, anyway. Might have accidently hit your vitals. Say, where's Antonio?"

"He left the ward. He needs rest, now, not medical attention."

"That's a fast recovery."

"I'm a fast doctor," Ivan says, pursing his lips into a thin smile, and reaches for his coat and slips one arm in and then, gingerly, the uninjured one, and makes a grand gesture towards the door. "You had better go along now."

~~~0~~~

Eduard sits stiffly before the control panel, his fingers hovering delicately before the keys and levers, never bothering to look up when Alfred enters the room.

"It's tiresome, all this landing and lifting preparation," he tells Alfred, and yawns. "I'm bored out of my mind."

"How long will it be?" Alfred asks.

"It should be ready by tomorrow morning, thank goodness. I never want to do this again in my life."

Alfred leans against the wall, hands in his pockets, and watches Eduard as he works, spinning from one end of the control panel on his wheeled chair to another. "I was a biochemist, back on Earth," he says finally. "When I get back I'll probably have lost my job."

"Probably," agrees Eduard. "It's a year and half to there, a year and a half back. Dangerous, too."

"Yeah? From whom?"

"Oh, pirates, rebels, the run of the lot. This is a decent ship, but accidents always happen." Eduard's thumb fiddles with lock. "That's what my grandpa always told me: 'Son, don't ever let down your guard.'"

"Good advice."

"Eh. Don't you have a family to bring along, a wife?"

"A brother," Alfred tells him, "but we haven't seen each other for a long time. No children, no wife, no parents."

"So you're a free man, then?" Eduard grins up at him, his tongue licking through a small gap between his teeth.

"As free as you can get," Alfred laughs, and scratches at his cheek. "Actually, Laura was saying something curious the other day."

Eduard grunts and leans down, squinting fiercely. "Don't take anything she says seriously. She's brilliant when it comes to her animals but everything else she's a little touched upstairs."

"I see. She said you had a large head."

"All lies."

"And that the General was a…a 'Blue.' Whatever that is."

"That much is true. Would you like me to go into a comprehensive expounding of the background of the name?"

"No, thank you," Alfred says hastily, "I'll be alright. Does Antonio really—"

"You'd be better off not asking about that."

"Alright." Alfred pads closer, the bright images flashing on the screens bouncing off his glasses. "And Felik? And the doctor?"

Eduard vaults back as the screens flash red and alarms begin wailing in the ceiling, roars, "_Damnit_!" then jumps back into his chair and presses frantically at buttons, jerks down levers.

Then the screens fall black, and the alarms whimper and then fall quiet, and he sags back into his chair, panting, and gasps to Alfred, "What was it you were saying?"

"Err, nothing. You sure that's going alright?"

"Perfectly fine," Eduard snaps, cards a finger through his hair, and sighs again. "Look, I'm sorry. Right now's not really a good time to talk."

"Sure. I mean, I'll see you later."

Eduard spins back to the control panel, tapping and pulling, and Alfred backs away and closes the door softly behind him.

~~~0~~~

"So I just decided to ask you directly."

Felik snips another strand of Alfred's hair, watches it flutter to the floor, and squats down to retrieve a sponge. He pops back up, grinning archly, and sets to dusting Alfred's shoulders.

"Me? I'm just your everyday layman," he says, sighs, and dabs at the top of Alfred's head. "Can't say for the doctor. Has anyone ever told you you've got really gorgeous hair?"

Alfred blinks. "No."

"Yeah, well, maybe it's just a thing with humans, you lucky butts." Felik sets to Alfred's ears. "Taking it for granted, while everybody else in the universe has to mope about the ugly mops nature's given them. Too thin, too thick, too stringy, too tough, blah, blah, always going to me and complaining, change this, change this! Blegh!" Felik spits on the ground, and it splashes onto the fallen locks of hair. "Even I cannot do the impossible!"

"Err, yeah." Alfred untangles the cloak tied around his throat. "You know, maybe I should go."

"Oh, yes. Come again!"

~~~0~~~

"Everyone on this ship is crazy," Alfred slurs, "except maybe Antonio. And the General. Everybody else, is, just…" He yawns, his mouth stretching wide, into his palm.

"Perhaps you should stop drinking."

"No, man…" Alfred gazes blearily up at the lights. "No, man, I just…Oh, God, look at that. No, wait. It was nothing."

Ivan shakes the bottle of liquor upside down, and frowns at the few drops that splash out. "And now you have emptied my liquor cabinet."

"Sorry, man…There it is again…"

"I'll call your friend. You had better not touch anything while I'm gone." He stands and picks his way to the office, and glances back at the lolling figure before stepping inside.

"Ivan?"

"This is Eduard, yes? Your friend is in my medical room, quite drunk, I believe. I would advise you to fish him out now."

Something smashes in the ward; Ivan winces.

"_Now_."

"Just—wait a moment, I'm coming, okay?" There's the sound of fumbling, and then the line crackles and falls dead.

Ivan waits, listening for the sound of more breaking, puts the phone back in the receiver, opens the door, makes his way back and stops, fingers clenching and unclenching, taking in deep breaths and straining for calmness.

"So you broke the table."

Alfred has slumped to the floor and is sleeping there, mouth opening and stirring with his breath, fingers slanted awkwardly at an upward angle.

Ivan drags one of the surviving chairs away from the rubble, sits down and waits patiently.

The door slides open.

"Oh my god."

"Come in, Eduard."

A shiver seems to pass through Eduard's body, contorting it, then he darts in and kneels down next to Alfred.

"This—no way, this isn't even humanely possible, I—"

"Get him out. Now."

Eduard's hands grasp Alfred by the arms, then clutch uselessly at his shirt. "I can't lift him," he says helplessly.

"You had better do it," Ivan tells him calmly, "I don't care how, before I lose my temper."

"Just—" Eduard wets his cracking lips "—can you wait for me to get Antonio?"

"Will that take you ten seconds?" Ivan asks politely.

"I can't lift him!" Eduard cries again.

"And my table is broken, my liquor is gone, and frankly I am feeling rather unsympathetic, so—"

Alfred groans from the floor, and, mumbling, shifts onto his side.

For a moment Ivan is silent. Then he sighs. "This had better not happen again."

"It won't."

Ivan sighs again, leans down and takes Alfred by the legs. "You go over to the other side."

Eduard's thin, knobby fingers scrabble for purchase on Alfred's shoulders, then, straining visibly at the knuckles, heave him up.

He drops him halfway to the door, straightens and wipes at his brows, sweating. "Just a moment," he gasps, and leans down.

At the doorway Eduard lets go again, and Alfred flops to the ground, half-in and half-out of the room. Ivan crouches down and pushes him distastefully away. Then, shooting another warning glance at Eduard, he slams the door shut.

And buries his face in his hands.

"More work," and then he gets to picking off the small slivers of wood littering the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred slides to the edge of the bed, slithers down, grapples for a moment or two, standing on edge like a cat, and lifts himself to tottering feet.

He looks around the room, carding a hand through his hair and frowning, his eyes still dazed and filmed over from sleep. Then he notices his sneakers lying on the ground, pulls them onto his feet, ties the laces, and pokes his head out the door.

The halls are empty, so he heads for the mess hall.

A few people are loitering around, some gathered into small groups and chattering by the tables, and Yao Wang, over the counter, is still stirring a smoking cauldron. He catches sight of Alfred, grins and waves, a hand flying up to steady the puffed, stained white hat sitting on his head.

He beckons Alfred over, shouts, "You want something to eat?"

Alfred opens his mouth and, licking his dry, cracked lips, calls hoarsely, "No, thank you."

Then he gazes around the cafeteria, searching, and hurries over to where Laura is sitting.

She lifts a spoon in greeting; the thick brown broth moves sluggishly down the handle and splashes back into the bowl. "Morning. Where were you?"

"Sleeping."

"Well, you missed something, alright," she tells him, ladles up a spoonful of broth and stares distastefully at the contents. "There was a big jump, this time. Lasted half a second, but gave us all goose bumps."

"What?" Alfred asks.

"You know," she says, hands gesticulating forcefully in the air, "big explosion. Boom. Hyperspace." She tilts her head at Alfred's confusion, then explains, "We took off, just this morning. Everyone was getting antsy, wanted to get off this little planet. We've sent transmissions to the Empire, they already know the big guy's dead. They've already got a substitute acting in your place, then you'll go there and the Council will give you a thumbs down and then the substitute will become permanent. So there."

She scoots over on the bench to make way for Alfred. "It sounds complicated, but don't worry. You don't really have to do anything."

"Sure."

"Hey, aren't you gonna eat?"

Alfred shakes his head. "I feel a little off."

"Hangover?"

"No, not that bad," he says, "must've caught something."

"Alright. Well, if it gets worse, you'd better get it checked out. You're the first Earthling to go on an interstellar voyage, and if you're liable to get sick, we're not gonna know."

"Thanks," Alfred says, pushes off and moves on.

He goes to the room, the one containing the control panel, next, and presses his ear against the door, listening for noise. Then he turns away, beginning to shuffle down the hall, when a hand clamps onto his shoulder.

Eduard scowls at him as he turns round, so pedantic and snobbishly disapproving as to put a schoolteacher to shame, and shakes his head. "What you do get yourself into."

"This has something to do with last night?"

Eduard shifts past him and slides a card down the register, and the doors slide open. "Yes, what do _you_ think?" he says, seats himself at the control panel and swivels grandly round to face Alfred.

"I think probably so," Alfred says, sighing, and cards a hand through his hair, "but I don't remember anything."

"All very well for you," Eduard says darkly.

"Could you at least tell me what happened?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, could you tell me what inspired you to raid the good doctor's liquor cabinet, get smashed, drag _me_ into your mess after breaking the table, god knows how, and generally be very heavy while Antonio and I tried to drag you to your room?"

Alfred's brows raise higher and higher until it seems they might hit his hairline. "Wow."

"Wow, indeed," Eduard snaps, clicks his heels and spins around again to face the screens.

"Jesus Christ." Alfred sucks in a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, I don't even know where to start."

"With a forever vow of abstinence of alcohol and sex so that your inferior, infinitely stupid genes will never be passed down to the next generation?"

"That's a lot to promise."

"That," Eduard says, "or get Antonio to pick you up next time."

"I _am_ sorry."

From across the room Eduard gives a small, fluttering, delicate sniff, wipes a finger across his nose, and says, "All is forgiven. Now get out."

~~~0~~~

"And to you, too. Don't know what got into me last night."

For a moment Ivan only gazes dully at Alfred through bloodshot eyes, then he sighs and stoops down and picks up a small sliver of wood, pressing the flat side between two fingers to avoid being cut. "I cannot think clearly," he says wearily, "and I cannot be properly angry at you just yet. So please, come back later." He pauses, the gears in his head turning, and adds, "No, don't come back."

The large bulk of the table has been cleared away, but small splinters still lie on the ground, and the white, shiny floor is peppered with wooden motes. Alfred crouches down, runs a finger down the floor, brings it up and stares at the dust. Then he straightens. "I could clean this for you."

"And break what, now? My equipment? Perhaps the patient beds? Or would it be the lamp?"

"I was _drunk_," Alfred protests, wiping his palms against his jeans. "I'm not usually that clumsy, or, err. Strong. You could probably use the sleep, right?"

A look of longing, of temptation, flashes across Ivan's face, then he shakes it off. "That would not be a good idea."

"Why?" Alfred presses.

The look comes into his face again and he turns to Alfred and takes him in slowly and then he begins shambling to the office, his key strikes awkwardly against the lock, and he points to a corner of the room. "Pan, there. Trash bin, there. Mop. Don't break anything." The door closes behind him.

Alfred moves to the corner and hooks his thumbs in his jeans and gauges the room, head listing slightly to the side, then fills up the bucket at the sink and takes the mop and, whistling, gets to work.

~~~0~~~

Yao flies awake with a start, fists his knuckles in his eyes, vaults off the chair singlehandedly and lands squarely in front of Alfred, grinning, palms spread out like an acrobat's. "Hi-ya, there, Alfred."

Alfred smiles and waves tentatively.

"O-k, all good, first time you've dropped in, what do you need and how can I help you?"

"Me? Not me—well, yes, I mean—" Alfred stares down at his shoes, shifts from foot to foot. "Yesterday I got kind of slammed. At the doctor's. Drank. Everything."

Yao whistles and leans an elbow on the counter, whispers to him confidentially, "You sure you're not a dead man walking?" and pokes him in the arm. "If this is a joke this is a very, very bad joke. What tolerance! What's your secret?"

Alfred moves his shoulders in a rippling shrug. "I think the liquor was light."

"Light! It's the heaviest thing any of us have. Why, didn't Antonio, yes, that one time, he tried for half a bottle, fell asleep half a glass, never lived it down." Yao emits a sharp, shrill giggle, hops onto the counter and crosses his legs. "Still tease him about, 'little boy, why don't you stand down and let the grownups take care of it?'" He giggles again, the sound of nails raking down chalk.

Alfred winces. "Uh, sure. Anyway I thought the least I could do was replenish his supply. So, do you know what he usually gets?"

"Meh, yes, but it ain't coming in for a while. No shipments in this rural backyard, see. The last of what was left, stuff strong like that."

"So nothing else?"

"Sorry."

"Nah, it's nothing. Thank you."

Yao's toothy grin emerges again, and he hops off the counter and slides back into his chair, his arms dangling listlessly off the sides.

Laura cracks open the door just as Alfred's getting to it, and peers around cautiously before holding it open for him. "Come for early supper?"

He shakes his head.

"Well, I have. Care to join me?"

"No thank you. I've stuff to do."

"Suit yourself. Say, where're you going? If it's interesting I'll tag along."

"Hardly intriguing," Alfred tells her. "Going to the medical room to sweep it up, besides, I'm almost done."

"What's the story behind that?"

Alfred pulls her into the hallway, and they start walking down together. "Too embarrassing to tell."

"Oh, you men," Laura sighs, dances in front of him and, walking backwards, crosses her arms. "Come on out with it."

"I thought Antonio would've told you."

"Well, he didn't. He hogs all the good gossip for himself, he's worse than all those old cronies and angsting teenagers combined. _Come on_." Her cheeks blow up, turn red and shining.

He tells the story again, can't help a smile at her astonishment, and then reaches up to pick at his hair. "See, and I got a haircut."

Laura shakes her head, whistles, and sharply rounds a corner. "I know you're not gonna be king, but you'd be one hell of a ballsy one."

"You do strange things when you're drunk," he reminds her. "Suicidal things. And I don't even remember anything."

"Modest," she teases, "if Antonio had anything half like that to brag about, he'd swell it up ten times bigger than it actually is, never stop babbling about it night and day."

"And you?"

"Nothing but the truth for me, of course."

The medical room comes into sight, its walls still white and spotless but brown pushing up against the windows, staining them at the corners, and clumped into tiny heaps on the floor.

Laura rolls her eyes, and the green orbs go bouncing. "Alfred, you don't happen to take any _illicit_ medications, do you? 'Cause I'm pretty sure breaking a table's not possible in a world and a half."

"I don't know," Alfred mumbles, "it hasn't happened before. Can't you look into it with all your science gizmos?"

"That's Eduard you're talking about," Laura says, steps inside the door and immediately heads for the pans. "This really is a pigpen. First time I've seen it this way. Where's that crazy doctor? Thought he would've snapped you in half?"

Alfred gestures towards the office, stoops down and asks, "Sweeping or mopping?"

"Mopping."

"Got it."

Laura zooms around the room, splashing the big grey mop into the soapy bucket and out again, holding it fast with both her hands stuck to the handle and pushing it in a wild zigzag about the floor.

"Thanks for helping," Alfred says.

Laura grins, and pushes the back of one damp hand to her sweating forehead. "Hey, it's nothing. When this kind of thing happens to me I'm counting on you to give me a hand, too." She swings up a thumb jutting out of her fist, her grin grows wider, then she gets back to mopping.

They've finished, are sluggishly moving in the corner to put away the cleaning equipment, when the door clicks open and Ivan stumbles out, his hair unusually disorderly, the redness gone from his eyes but still drowsy.

He stops in his tracks and his brows knit together as he takes in the sight of Laura and Alfred, and the floor shining white and sterilized, sparkling with cleanness, and bouncing back the light of the ceiling.

Laura swells up her chest until it's fairly preening with pride, then lets it out in one exhausting breath. "Not bad, eh?"

Ivan ignores her, stoops down and traces one finger down the floor, Laura protesting vehemently, turns it up and straightens.

"A decent job," he says, then closes himself back into his office.

"What do you mean, a '_decent job_'?" Laura shouts, hands cupped around her mouth, and turns to Alfred, huffing, and grabs his arm. "Come on, let's get out of here. Not your fault that crazy doctor doesn't know quality when he sees it."

"I broke the table in the first place, Laura."

"Quality," she repeats firmly, and drags him out. "And don't say that again, you did your best to make wrongs right, and that's the most anybody can ask of anybody."

At the juncture of the hallway she spins on her heel and sticks out her tongue at the medical room, fingers wriggling around her face, and wipes her mouth. "There." She turns to Alfred, the smile back on her face. "You still up for that offer?"

"What?"

"It's kind of late, but we can still grab something at the cafeteria. It'll be fun, we can see how much stew Antonio can stomach before he throws up."

Alfred tilts his head and turns the idea over in his mind, and says, slowly, "Fun?"

"Why not?"

She clamps onto his arm again and they go down the hallway, her jabbering excitedly and him listening as she speaks, nodding solemnly and sometimes laughing.


End file.
